


A Thought, by John Murphy

by allofthecaffeine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, I love my small trash child, Just any time after S3, Mentions of Murphy's Dad, Mentions of Ontari, Pretty much just my take on Murphy's character development, Set in like space or something, Well she's mentioned anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthecaffeine/pseuds/allofthecaffeine
Summary: I bear it so they don’t have to.





	A Thought, by John Murphy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my attempt at making a fresh start here on AO3, by posting something I'm actually proud of in place of the honestly horrible things 13-year-old me posted three years ago, which I just deleted as they do not deserve to live. Let me know it it's too rambly, or out of character, or general all-round shite; I wrote this in, like, half an hour for an English assignment about six months ago, so....
> 
> Anyway, just enjoy the story to the best of your ability and let me know what you thought :-)

The human mind is a fickle thing. Most of the people I meet just keep walking, never sparing a glance my way. Some look, though. They look at me hard and close and think, _what went wrong?_ They don’t say it, of course, not often, but I can see it on their faces; the fear, the pity, the confusion. It bothers me. Not because of their reactions - those I take great pride in eliciting. The thing that gets me is that they’re asking the wrong question. _What went wrong_ , instead of _what went right_.

I was arrested when I was eight, for arson. I know now that it was a dumbass idea, but the guards had executed my father for stealing medicine and my mom blamed me. I knew it wasn’t my fault, or I thought I knew… anyway, I blamed the guards for breaking my family, and then blamed them again when mom drank herself to death. In an act of irrational, thoughtless stupidity I set their supply pile on fire. I’m officially the youngest convict in history. Or so I’m told.

I was raised in that prison; I grew up there. I watched a girl be taken for execution because she missed curfew. Hell, there’s a kid down the hall who got locked up for being alive; some bullcrap story about ‘no second children’. I dunno. It’s safe to say I had an interesting theory of right and wrong drilled into me over the years. You commit a crime, you pay for it. Doesn’t matter how old you are, or whether you meant it. A crime is a crime and justice must be met. I didn’t realise until later, years later, that I was wrong about retribution. It wasn’t until I found myself chained by my neck to a tyrant in the name of those who left me for dead that I finally got it. _Bad things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. We just don’t notice the good because the pain changes their minds._ In that moment I vowed to be better, to at least try.

Love made it easier, though. See, if someone were to ask _what went right_ , then I would tell them it was her. My genius, my spitfire. She kept my on the straight and narrow when I couldn’t even see my feet. We were terrified, the two of us, because no one really believed that we could be good. But we _tried_ . She made me _want_ to try. And I did. I still am, for her. Because the only times things ever went well were the times we stood together. I know that the good won’t ever make up for the bad, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Screwing myself over was the best thing that ever happened to me because it lead me to _her_ , and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
I can never wash the blood off of my hands. The water will always run red over my skin. In doing good I did a lot of bad. That’s okay, though. I’ll shoulder the blame. I’ll shoulder _everyone’s_ blame, because some people have always _been_ good and will always _be_ good and they don’t deserve _any_ of the guilt that weighs them down like bricks.

_I bear it so they don’t have to_.


End file.
